moved by you

[alyson sophia kent]

Her eyes stung. It was something that Aly had actually found herself growing used to- that feeling behind your eyes after you cry. For seventeen years she had been the girl who had it all. A nice house, a good relationship with her parents, expensive clothes, lots of friends, the attention of any boy she pleased. For seventeen years Alyson Kent glided through life without a care in the world. Then it all changed. Alyson had never really believed that life could change with just one action- one flick of the wrist. She didn’t believe in a lot of things though, until the proof smacked her across the face. Or, as the case may be, until Maxwell Heaton slammed her into a wall outside the ice-cream shop and challenged her very existence. It had been about a year ago that had happened, but Alyson could pin-point that day as the moment her life had started to crumble around her.

True, not all of it was Max’s fault, but the encounter she’d had with him sure seemed to be a catalyst for everything else in her life. At least, she needed something to blame. Her perfect prom-queen world was slipping away from her. No, more like crashing down at great speeds, and the harder she tried to hold it all together, the worse it became. Her very existence was coming into question with each new day. Things she had held dear didn’t seem as important anymore. Like the world had broken off its axel and shifted about ten miles to the left. Everything was familiar, yet she was looking at it from a new position. Change wasn’t something Alyson was adept with, to be perfectly frank, she was drowning in this strange new life she found herself in. Desperately fighting against the current to get back what she had.

She wasn’t even sure why she had been crying in that particular moment. Her house was quiet. Kayla was (reluctantly) out with their father, and Alyson’s mother had passed out early after a bottle of wine. She could have called Finn- She should have called Finn, but the idea of him was leaving her wanting something else. She couldn’t put her finger on it, couldn’t explain why the idea of her boyfriend was not at all comforting. The only thing that seemed clear in her mind was this; She needed to see Max. There was no explanation as to why, or what she hoped to gain from seeing him, but did it matter? She needed to see him and that was that.

Her hands were shaking as she knocked on the door. In her other life, she would have considered herself to be a mess- that she looked like hell. Her blonde hair hadn’t been brushed, and was left to fall as it may in a slightly wild mess around her shoulders. Her face was clear, natural. It wasn’t something she was in the habit of doing- leaving the house without make-up, but really, did it matter just then? In a word: no. The simple sun-dress she wore also lacked a certain sparkle she usually held, and yet, there was something about it that was just right. Like, strip back the layers of charm, the coy smiles and the infectious laugh, the flashy clothes.. And that was just her. Pure, Simple. Exposed.

He was taking forever to open the door, and it was making her nervous- second guess herself. She hated that feeling. Alyson Kent was a girl who always liked to feel sure of herself. Squaring her jaw, she took a deep breath in. She was readying herself, only she didn’t know for what. She was stubborn though, so she told herself that whatever her first instinct was, that was the reason she needed to see him, so she needed to act on it. She had just taken a deep breath when the door finally opened. Alyson bit back a scathing remark about how rude it was to keep someone waiting for so long, which was her knee-jerk reaction to Max. Instead, she stood in silence and looked at him. Really looked. His hair was wet, and she could smell the faint aroma of his soap. The smell made her stomach lurch in a way she wouldn’t exactly describe as bad, and then she knew. Knew why she needed to see him. Wordlessly, she launched herself at him. Pressing every inch of herself to him. She had to feel him, take him all in. Hands were in his hair, and lips were hovering over his. And yet, almost kissing him like that was more intense than any kiss she had ever experienced.

[maxwell david heaton]

This. This couldn't be happening. Was this happening?

Ten minutes prior, Maxwell David Heaton had found himself stepping out of the shower into the all too familiar marble bathroom. His skin was warm and dampened, steam trailing off of his flesh and into the thick air. There was a crack developing in the molding due to excessive exposure to moisture and he had spent approximately four minutes wiping away the dew on the mirror so he could critique his appearance with a critical eye. A person didn't just hallucinate those kind of details. He hadn't fallen asleep. This wasn't a dream. This was actually happening.

If he had known what awaited him at the door, the man would have considered something a little more flattering in attire. An unbuttoned white collared shirt, a pair of fitted black pants. She seemed so beautiful and he was so...unprepared. Damp. Caught off guard. Max also wouldn't have taken fifteen minutes to get here. He would have ran. How was he to know that it was her? Granted, it would be a lie to say that upon hearing the knock her name didn't cross his mind. But how preposterous would that be? She hadn't been at his house past eleven o'clock unattended since they were in middle school. They hadn't actually been alone together since...well. No. It couldn't have possibly been her. She hated him.

Or so that's what he thought.

Her breath was warm on his lips, folding over him as the sensation of her fingers through his hair sent a shiver from the base of his throat to his groin. How did she know what he liked? It was with out thought that his hands had grasped her, pulling her against him and enjoying the exhilaratingly perfect frame that he had spent so many nights imagining upon his. A year had gone by since the phenomenon called Alyson Kent had found itself in his arms. And Max had spent one year trying to savor what he remembered from the feeling. One year trying to suppress it, ignore it, and hate it. A year trying to hate her.

"Alyson..."

The name wasn't fueled by oxygen, but elation. He wasn't aware of where his lungs disappeared to. All he could feel was her breath. Her hands. Her body. His touch pressed harder into her, pulling her closer against him. She had come to him. She was the one this time that come to him. Alyson Kent was the one that wanted him. And he? Well he was Maxwell Heaton. And this was too euphoric for him let it go.

Letting his lips graze against hers, he closed his eyes, felt the sparks, then lightly pulled away. "It's about time," he whispered, slightly smirking before letting his lips slip past her own with out kissing them, instead pressing up against the square of her jaw. His arms rapped around her tighter, pulling against her and enjoying the taste that her skin had to offer before continuing. With one hand on the back of her neck, the other rested on her hip, thumb pressed against her hipbone in high hopes he'd be pressing against his mattress soon enough. Taking his mouth off of her for only a moment, Max spoke lowly before biting her neck and tugging at her clothing, "No tears this time though, beautiful."

This wasn't the first time that Max had made this mistake; it was just too delicious to repeat how ever.

[alyson sophia kent]

Hey name sounded strange in his voice. It wasn’t the usual malice or smugness he usually spoke her name in. It was different- like that was the only way her name was supposed to be said. All the breath she had left in her lungs flooded out as he spoke her name, and her fingers dug gently into his scalp. Tugging on his damp hair. This. Just this. Everything about it was what she needed. The shape of his head fit her palms perfectly and nothing had felt so good between her fingers- like his hair was the only thing she ever needed to feel ever again. Well, maybe that and his flesh. That could come though. For the moment she just wanted to hold him like this. Her hands tangled in his hair and her body fitted perfectly against his. If people were actually made for each other- this is what it must feel like. Every inch of her had a place to connect with his, like he had been made out of her own outline.

At his words, Alyson felt herself stiffen slightly. Something about the cocky undertones to his words had her skin boiling slightly. He always did that to her- worked her up with merely a sentence. However, there was no way she was relinquishing her hold on him. Not when his lips and hands were starting fires of an entirely different kind throughout her body. God. How had she waited so long for this? It was like she was coming home, finally. She had always thought of home as a place, but now she understood. Home was wherever your heart was, and for her, home was Maxwell Heaton. He’d owned her heart for longer than Alyson cared to admit, and it had ripped her apart inside denying this from herself. There was no more denying now though. There was no going back. This was happening, and doing the wrong thing had never been so right for the blonde.

Pulling away from him slightly, Alyson rolled her eyes. “I’m not crying.” She countered, a slight glare on her face. There was such a strong temptation to start a fight with Max. Fighting with him was easy. It was the only way she knew how to release the tension between them. She wasn’t going to take the easy way out, not this time. Setting her glare to look him in the eye, she shook her head for a moment. “Just shut up, you smug bastard.” And that was all she said. Because her lips were too busy. Launching herself at him again, this time, she crushed her lips to his in a soul-searing, life changing kiss.

[maxwell david heaton]

This. This was it. This moment. Ever since he was five when they were married at the jungle gym. Ever since sixth grade when he had known that his best friend was the most beautiful girl at the dance. Ever since he had collapsed into her arms at his mother's funeral. This moment was the one that Max Heaton had been waiting for. It was a passionate, sexy. It was...it was loving. It was a loving action that seemed to sear right him and all of his bitterness, solitude, and sarcasm. All of his cutting insults and volatile defense mechanisms. It was just a kiss, from the woman he just wanted to love, that was received by (for the first time in his life) Max. Just Max.

And yet it was so much more.

He wasn't used to the feeling that came along with having Alyson's lips against his. Morphine. She was morphine, and cocaine, and his soul...it had some how relocated itself to live within the nerve endings of his lips...and his soul was addicted. Becoming aware that there were other parts of his body besides his mouth (as in that sensation he had seemed to forget), there was very little control over what Max's body did next. This...this provocation was something he had never felt before. And as such, there was little preparation for him to maintain the infamous calm, suave Heaton appearance that so many women had become accustomed to. No. He was carnal.

His lips pressed against hers harder, pulling back, then kissing her again. The hand behind her neck had taken to softly pulling her hair, moving her head to the side for his mouth to have more access to her own. The grasp on her hip had been replaced to the back of her sundress, running over the soft meat of her buttocks before disappearing underneath the edge of her sundress to grab at the promising flesh of her thigh. He softly groaned. Alyson Kent. Biting her bottom lip, the grasp on her hair had also rapidly torn beneath her dress as well, both hands grasping her thighs and lifting the woman to about waist height. Feeling her legs rap around him he carried her a few steps away from the door and slammed her down upon the nearest table in the foyer, throwing off its contents of pictures frames and candles onto the marble floor. His father would have to forgive him for the things he was about to do to this woman.